We reach the third day, and I feel like I am starting to understand these people to an extent.
On the second day, they had realized that they are locked inside here with me. I wanted to tell them, but I am not able to do so. They panicked at first, but the shorter, broader woman calmed them down. Her accent is impossible to decipher, but I understand her to have directed them toward an escape plan since they were no longer being pursued.
Slowly but surely, they collect the aged wooden planks that the ice trolls had used to prop the door open. The broader woman shows them how to wedge the planks in between the box that contains a spring and the wall. I think...I think they plan to break the spring box so the door opens again. It is ingenious, and more clever than I would expect from most of the vrykul.
But these people are not vrykul...as I begin to decipher their language, that becomes very clear. These people are like civilized pygmies, and even their speech is clearer. I feel as if I know Zandali and Nerubian due to observation; I can not explain this, but I somehow know that I am not literate. But since I do not need sleep even if I am capable, since I do not grow tired, since I do not spend time consuming sustenance or excreting, I devote all my time to comprehending these people.
They did not eat frugally enough on the first day, leaving them in a quandary. Despite their lack of organization, I watch them laboriously work out a system for stretching out their food and water supplies. At three days in, they work out a system for their provisions to last for another three days. I can not understand entire conversations yet, but I can understand that much of their speech by now.
My own fate is unclear...when they do finally pry the door open, how will I talk to them? None of them acknowledge me at all; I must not look like a normal person. Like a goddess, instead...like a statue. I find myself praying for the first time in a long time, hoping for them to escape but also for them not to leave me here.
